


Plaything

by notthelasttime



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (but with a good heart), (light on the guilt I had to tone it down my catholic upbringing was showing), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Guilt, M/M, Prostitute Ignis, Prostitution, Stockings, bit of a sad little rich boy Gladio, financial disparity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthelasttime/pseuds/notthelasttime
Summary: There were places in Insomnia that were better left alone, places straight laced boys from the Citadel had no business being. Boys like Gladio.But Iggy walked those streets, and had taken up residence in his thoughts. The taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin. He always kept Gladio wanting more, and more, and more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mood music: [wild beats - plaything ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwo-Q5-bXx8)

On the south side of Insomnia just west of the bay and a stone’s throw from the rail yard, along a string of factories and industrial parks and scattered abandoned buildings there was a series of blocks. Blocks made of concrete and asphalt that were better off ignored and best left alone entirely. Blocks that straight laced boys from the upper tier of the Citadel shouldn’t know anything about. Boys like Gladio.

His black Mustang sat idling, parallel parked along the curb and not any more inconspicuous than anyone else would have been. He waited; and waited and watched as he was finally noticed, and the man he was looking for broke away from the half-circle of bodies tittering on the corner, on display under a street light. He made his way in measured, sauntering steps across the empty street and Gladio couldn’t help but stare. He took that stretched out moment, that short walk over to the car to examine down to the details everything he’d been missing. The bone bitter chill of winter was sharp in the air, but he was all leg and nothing but wide net fishnets to cover him from the shiny red stilettos up, up to the tops of his thighs, where whatever skimpy outfit he was clad in disappeared under a black fur coat, his purse a garish red against it, slung over his shoulder and matching his shoes.

Gladio could spot all the tells of bargain brands and second hand clothes and designer imitations. Fake leather, fake fur, and things worn too often and for too long until seams started to loosen and threads frayed, like the scuffs on the sides of the red heels, the pointed soles worn down from so much walking back and forth and back and forth on that lonely stretch of road. The words were there at the tip of Gladio’s tongue- cheap, tacky, gauche. Classless.

He was, from head to toe, the kind of thing that would make the Council member’s wives clutch their pearls in disgust while their husbands might laugh at the absurdity, or else simply huff and look away in instant dismissal from a three second glance. They would be quick to turn their backs. They would have so much to whisper about amongst themselves. The people and all the thoughts buzzing around Gladio’s head, the world he was raised in, the world he came from. Where the only thing worse than new money was no money.

But watching him, all Gladio felt was a wide and gaping longing, spreading through a deep cavity across his chest.

The passenger’s side door opened and he slipped inside, knees and ankles kept pinched together in a pose that might have been dainty.

“Hey Iggy.”

“Good evening,” Iggy said, and that smooth voice washed over him. Gladio saw the gooseflesh prickling over the pale skin of Iggy’s thighs, and as he put the car in gear, he nudged the heat up just a bit, and made the familiar drive two blocks down the road to an alley behind an empty warehouse. A place Iggy had called private the first night they met.

“Apologies,” Iggy said, the first words he spoke after Gladio parked, “my hands will be a bit cold.”

“You can warm up for a bit, I don’t mind,” Gladio said, watching Iggy stick his fingers in front of the vents flanking the glovebox in front of him. Gladio wasn’t in a hurry. Not even close, and if it were up to him, Iggy would spend the better part of the night in his car warming up. Just warming up- from heated seats and the defroster on high. No obligations, or exchanging services and passing money from hand to hand, just…

Iggy, deeming himself sufficiently warmed and Gladio’s comments irrelevant, reached over into the driver’s seat and unzipped Gladio’s pants.

It was the same as the first time. Guilt and second guessing could run after him later and it was hard to want to hesitate when Iggy didn’t hesitate. He didn’t blush, he wasn’t embarrassed. Not then and not now.

Iggy’s hands were still cold, but his mouth was warm and his tongue was relentless. He kept a steady pace and the sounds of his sucking, of the saliva in his mouth filled Gladio’s head until he heard nothing else.

He was good; with his tongue and with his mouth. He knew what he was doing because he’d probably done it a hundred times before, and as deep as he swallowed Gladio’s cock, Gladio never heard him choke.

He put a hand on the back of Iggy’s neck, let his thumb run along the protruding bone marking the top of his spine. Iggy stopped, like he thought Gladio might want to take control, shove his face down, fuck his mouth, but Gladio didn’t and soon Iggy fell back into his rhythm again. Gladio just wanted to touch his skin, feel the tickle of his hair on his fingers. To pretend it was something romantic, something for lovers to do, that him and Iggy were different people. He let his head fall back against the leather headrest behind him, his breathing getting heavier, and Gladio closed his eyes as he came in Iggy’s mouth, crashing down on him like relentless waves on a stormy beach filled with jagged rocks, slick and sharp and dangerous. This was all so dangerous.

Iggy swallowed and licked his lips.

He didn’t need to tell Gladio how much. He wordlessly took out his wallet and paid in cash before driving back around the block to drop Iggy off on the corner once again. He drove away, not thinking of the secret phrases, the magic words that might get Iggy to stay with him for just a little while longer.

 

  

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Citadel sat in the center of the sprawling metropolis that was Insomnia. The tallest building for miles, a lofty seat for Royalty to reside and view the world below from a safe and comfortable distance.

From his father’s office in the crisp and cutting clarity of the winter sun, Gladio could see out the window a stretch of city all the way down to the bay. Down to where he pictured that corner he’d been frequenting as of late in the midnight hours. His own office didn’t have that kind of view, facing off in a different direction and getting the worst of the afternoon sun until he was baking in his suit jacket.

It was all for show.

The Amicitia’s used to be Shields. They used to mean something more than money and empty political power all those hundreds of years ago when there was still magic in the world and people fought with swords and daggers. Gladio used to imagine it, who he could have been, wielding a greatsword, protecting his King, guarding him from traitors and assassins that shot lightning from their fingertips. The old romantic days at Court that some part of Gladio like to dream of, even knowing life wasn’t ever some adventure story. He was older now, too old to keep dwelling on those things, but sometimes the thoughts resurfaced before he could quiet them down. Like all the romance novels he read, a Prince coming to save the Princess, slay the dragon, save her from her high and lonely tower. He used to think- _that’s me_. He used cast himself as some sort of hero. He had the charm, he had the life anyone would desire, he had never wanted for anything except… As of late, sometimes looking down from the roof of the Citadel he thought he had it all wrong. He wasn’t the hero here, he was the princess trapped at the top of the tower.

“Gladiolus, are you listening to me?”

The window, with its endless, sprawling view faded and Gladio blinked, eyes going fuzzy before they refocused on his father starting at him and frowning from behind his desk.

“Sorry,” he said, and he heard the sound of Clarus Amicita sighing through his nose. That old tell that he was irritated and trying to hide it. Instinctively, Gladio sat up straighter in his chair.

“Gladio, you’ve been distracted lately.”

“Sorry,” he said, shifting in his chair and hating how even now, as an adult, Clarus could still make him feel like some hapless kid, hand caught in the cookie jar.

“I don’t want you to be sorry Gladio,” he said, face pinched but voice gentle, “I want you to understand. We’ve stood by the Caelums for generations. For _centuries_. It’s in your blood. Your position here is an honor and a privilege and I want you to be proud of that. No one else can do what you do. I want you to appreciate that. I want your head _here_ when you’re here.”

Gladio thought of the long hours spent behind his desk and in meetings, training or being groomed to be an advisor for Prince Noctis when his time came to ascend. He thought about all the thousands on thousands of people in Insomnia, and how many hundreds of them were better equipped for this kind of thing. How many of them would appreciate it more when it wasn’t an automatic given that they would one day be secure in their lives and their duties since they day they were born.

He put his head down. For all his stray thoughts he didn’t want to be the disappointing son. He never wanted to make his father ashamed.

“Sorry,” he said yet again, “just… had a lot on my mind lately. I won’t let it affect work.”

His father nodded, placated, and Gladio fought to keep his eyes from wandering back out that window, even if his thoughts couldn’t be tamed the same way.

He wondered where Iggy was. What he was doing.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gladio was impatient, drumming fingers on the steering wheel and sweating under his heavy coat, the heat preemptively turned up. But no familiar figure walked toward him.

Instead it was one of the girls that took pity, or rather got tired of staring at his car taking up space, and she strutted towards him, leather pants low and leather jacket cropped, leaving a strip of bare skin exposed to the air, level with Gladio’s eyes when she knocked on his window until he rolled it down.

“You here for business or what?” She looked annoyed, but she was trying to hide it, brushed silver hair from her face before pulling out a pack of Camels and lighting one with a temperamental zippo. Her nail polish was chipped.

“Where’s Iggy?” he asked, like she didn’t know who he was waiting for. He had to be there often enough that his preferences were known to all the curious eyes on the corner, watching and waiting for a summons of their own.

“Busy,” she said, puffing away like a chimney and filling Gladio’s lungs with the smell of smoke.

“You know when he’ll be back?” he asked, and her bald faced irritation showed, no longer bothering to be polite.

“How the fuck should I know? You want your cock sucked or not?”

“I’ll wait,” he said and she curled her lip, straightened up from the window.

“Yeah,” she said, “of course you will,” and then she stalked off, back to stand with the rest of them leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. But he did wait. And waited. And waited longer still until another car pulled up to the corner and Iggy stepped out, straightening his coat and fixing his hair as he did so.

It was one thing to know, like Gladio knew, what Iggy did. He knew first hand. Whatever he might have felt, whatever pretty lies he wanted to tell himself, and wayward thoughts that painted memories in rose colored glasses, he knew what he was doing deep down and that Iggy was doing it with anyone else. He didn’t think on things like commitment or obligation or jealousy. Those words were useless. Those words meant nothing. But nothing quite prepared him for the feeling thrumming through his veins to see it. See Iggy leaving another car. To imagine what he’d been doing. To _know_ what he’d been doing. It was the final thing to push Gladio’s indecisiveness over the edge, the question he’d wanted and waited to ask every time he came back, any time Iggy crossed his mind.

The woman in leather gestured at him as the other car pulled away, no attempt to hide the disdain on her face so that Gladio could see it all the way from where he sat. He also saw the wide eyed look Iggy shot over his shoulder before he turned back around and started walking once again.

“Good evening,” the standard greeting rolled off his tongue as Iggy sat himself down, and Gladio gave him a nod, nervous and wondering about his accent. Where was he born? Where was his family?

“… shall we?” Iggy prompted when Gladio made no move, patiently impatient in his prodding.

“I uh, I was wondering,” Gladio swallowed, and thought of the box of condoms sitting in his glovebox for the better part of two weeks, and all the time spent before that thinking about it instead, “I was wondering if I could take you to a hotel tonight. For the whole night.”

Iggy looked back at him, if he was surprised he didn’t show it, but he wasn’t showing anything else either.

“Only if you want. If not we can just do the ah, usual.” _The usual_. Like he was a regular at a coffee shop, ordering off a menu. “I’ll pay,” Gladio said, and cringed because of _course_ he would pay, “I’ll pay whatever you usually make in a night. Since I’m putting you out.”

Something in Iggy’s eyes turned sharp at that, even if his face didn’t change. He dropped a number. An amount that Gladio didn’t doubt was probably inflated from his nightly income, but Iggy was good. He didn’t show the lie, and he could probably smell the money on Gladio, even if he didn’t know just how much. But the thing about the rich was that they were notoriously cheap when it came to passing that money along. Gladio agreed without a second thought and he could practically see Iggy picking the situation apart.

“A moment,” he said, and stepped out of the car again. He left his purse sitting in front of the seat which felt like it said something about trust. Poking out of the open zipper on the top Gladio could see the little knock-off branded bottle of Listerine. He thought of that other car, and pictured Iggy washing his mouth out afterwards.

Iggy was talking to the girl on the corner. She didn’t look any happier than she’d been and as Iggy spoke she pulled out a phone and Gladio suspected she was snapping pictures of his car. To each watch out for their own. Something surged in Gladio, virulent and disgusted that they should suspect him, that they thought he’d ever do anything to hurt Iggy, that he was the same as someone that would. And then the drop, the realization that he was. He was just the same as any other John that came around for a pop. He felt dizzy. Iggy opened the door and sat back down.

“Now then… shall we?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In downtown Insomnia there was a hotel. It catered to the rich and sometimes famous, when anyone of importance was in the city; celebrities from Accordo, foreign dignitaries from Tenebrae. It meant a certain amount of privacy was a near guarantee, though as Gladio pulled up to the wide front doors, he hoped that no one would recognize him in the first place. The city was quiet from visitors, as far as he knew, and dressed down with a baseball cap on, with his hair tied back, no suits or ceremonial robes in sight, he thought he might be safe from prying eyes.

Then there was Iggy.

He hesitated before he made himself say it, “You mind staying in the car?”

All those gears turning in Iggy’s head, he could almost hear them, that sidelong glance at the hotel before he watched Iggy’s eyes drop down, eyelashes near kissing the tops of his cheeks. “Of course.”

Gladio’s hand went for the door handle before he pulled it back again, “It’s just...” _I know how these people are_ , “I don’t want anyone to give you a hard time.”

Iggy folded his hands in his lap, but at least his head stayed upright. “Of course.”

He told the valet not to touch the car, that he’d park it himself and then he rented a room. Quick and painless in the nearly empty lobby, nothing but the sound of a fountain and muted piano echoing off the marble floors. If they knew who he was then no one said anything. They didn’t offer him the top floor suite when he booked a standard room with a single bed. Not that he didn’t consider it, and walking back outside, driving down to the parking garage before leading Iggy to the room, he thought about it again. If he should have. If he should have made this even nicer as if it was some kind of special occasion, if he should have booked some beautiful open suite for the night, with a private pool and kitchenette, or if that would have been pretentious. If it would have looked like he was shoving money in Iggy’s face.

There was no one else in the quiet hall they turned down, plush carpet muting the sounds of Iggy’s shoes. In keeping with the hush of the building they didn’t speak as Gladio unlocked the door with a keycard.

He turned the light on, casting everything in a dim yellow glow, and Iggy set his purse down on the dresser against the wall. He gave a glance around, taking stock, then his look landed on Gladio.

Off came the heels. Iggy was tall still, but no longer almost Gladio’s height. Off came the fur coat, and Gladio saw that he was in a black dress tonight, short and skin tight up through the hips and torso, but a wide neck and loose sleeves, enough to just start slipping off Iggy’s shoulder.

Off came the dress.

In one fluid motion it was lifted up and over Iggy’s head. That left him in nothing but those fishnet stockings. There was a half-circle opening in them, right at the groin, leaving the bottom half of his ass bare and his cock hanging free. Gladio didn’t know if he bought them like that or if Iggy cut the hole himself, but either way he couldn’t stop staring. When Iggy made a move to grab the elastic waist and pull down, Gladio cautiously caught his hand.

Iggy still jumped, careful as Gladio had been and so aware of himself- his size, his strength, how easy it would be for him to grab too hard, get too rough, cause harm without meaning to. He only brushed Iggy’s wrist.

“Can you leave them on?”

A curious pause as Iggy gave him another one of those long looks, and then he nodded.

With a gentle hold still on his hand Gladio walked back until his legs hit the edge of the bed, then sat down. Iggy followed. When Gladio sat, Iggy slipped forward and sat too, perched on top of Gladio’s thighs and his arms came to rest over Gladio’s shoulders.

Iggy was always waiting on him. Waiting to see what Gladio wanted, to be used as Gladio willed. It was the best view Gladio had ever gotten of him, so close, and not in a car, on a dark street, not both facing forward but instead face to face. Almost instinctively his hands came up and took hold of Iggy’s waist, soft skin under his hands, and there was a little shiver of a response when he ran his fingers up the line of Iggy’s spine. He wondered if the fabric of his jeans was rough on Iggy’s bare skin. He was all pale and fair and little flecks of beauty marks, faint scars on his face that Gladio hadn’t ever noticed before, just like all the faint shades of green in his eyes that Gladio hadn’t ever noticed before.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, voice low and a little rough, afraid the answer might be no, but Iggy nodded and he leaned in.

Soft lips parted under his and a warm mouth welcomed him, let him taste his way inside, let his tongue move slow. Iggy’s hands came up, first to his neck, then to push the hat off of his head. “You can take it down,” he said, when fingers tangled in the bun he’d put his hair into, and Iggy tugged on the band he’d used to tie it back and dropped it somewhere on the floor before his hands wound their way back over Gladio’s scalp. He shiver at how cold they still were, thinking, _cold hands, warm heart_.

When Gladio pulled his shirt off, those fingers traced over the lines of his tattoo in exploration. Where Iggy was lithe and fair, Gladio was the bulk of muscle, dark hair and tan skin covered in all of that black ink. He kissed Iggy again, breathed him in, touched him everywhere he could. When he came to Iggy’s cock it was worth noticing that he was getting hard. With some stroking he got harder, and Gladio kissed and kissed every bit of skin in front of him pretending that it meant something if he was willing in the ways his body responded.

It was awkward getting his pants off, but they managed with more than a little shuffling, and then Iggy was back in his lap. Gladio’s erection didn’t need to be coaxed with all the anticipation that had been building inside of him. But Iggy let him take it slow anyway, slow kisses and slow meandering touches until Gladio dragged his hands up the length of Iggy’s thighs, catching on his fishnets before reaching further back, to spread his cheeks and rub his pucker.

Iggy wasn’t shy about it. He got up to grab the lube and a condom, fit it snug on Gladio’s cock before reaching behind himself to get slick and ready. He wet Gladio as well, in that same perfunctory way, and then he was lowering himself down barely giving any warning. Slow, and Gladio felt Iggy squeeze his shoulders and he wanted to say that there wasn’t any rush, that Iggy could take his time but he was busy catching his breath and then he was fully inside. Iggy let out a sigh from his open mouth, eyes closed, and he rocked his hips while Gladio clung on to him, desperate for more but wanting to make it last.

Iggy rode him, slow at first while he was still adjusting to being stretched full, but faster as he went and Gladio was mesmerized to the point of being useless, panting and grunting and watching Iggy work him. Watching his cock bounce and thinking about how he wanted to see Iggy come, watching the muscles in his thighs work, the way the black lines of his stockings stretched over the skin.

Gladio didn’t think he lasted long but time was losing meaning every second he spent inside of Iggy. He came, gasping against Iggy’s shoulder and with arms wrapped tight around his back. Dazed, the world a hazy blur of dim light he still had the sense to go back to stroking Iggy’s cock. For every time he came Iggy would come too. It seemed only fair, and an easy way to lessen the sick feelings in his stomach that would take over if he let them, that he could use someone the way he was using Iggy just because he could pay.

Iggy shuddered, and came spilling over his hand, body twitching and flushed. They stayed together like that long enough for Gladio to get lost in a fantasy, one where he could call Iggy his own.

Iggy lifted his hips until Gladio slipped out.

He lay Iggy down on the bed, even if anyone needed help and rest it was Gladio. He tugged off and threw out the condom and came back to open arms while Iggy let himself be kissed again. He let Gladio cover him, let his legs part to make room. And after so much kissing and touching, and the heat and closeness of their bodies, when Gladio started getting hard, he let him inside again too.

The second time was different, harder and faster with Gladio on top and brimming with need like he hadn’t just been sated. The headboard knocked against the wall in a thumping tempo, and if they got a noise complaint for it, Gladio didn’t care so long as he could keep hearing the way he was making Iggy moan. If it was all an act, if it was all for show, then it was a good one. Certain things were hard to fake, and when Iggy came again, legs clenching around Gladio’s hips he could believe that pleasure was real. And down the rabbit hole, Gladio chased him.

They slept after that. At least Gladio did and he supposed he couldn’t know if Iggy had slept at all with him. He was unconscious for almost an hour, and waking up came in small starts, little pieces of the room coming into focus while he got his bearings.

Iggy was still next to him, with Gladio’s arm wrapped around his stomach, Gladio’s face pressed near his neck. He was scrolling through messages on his phone with one hand, absently picking at a scab on his knee with the other. The stockings were off. Which was a bit of a shame for the aesthetics, but Gladio didn’t imaging they’d be particularly comfortable to sleep in. When he shifted his arm, Iggy stilled, then dropped his phone over the edge of the bed.

“Apologies,” he said, “I didn’t realize you were awake.” Gladio kissed his neck instead of answering, and in a tone without judgement, Iggy asked him, “again?”

“You hungry?” Gladio asked after a moment, thumb rubbing over Iggy’s hip where he could feel the bone. “I could order room service.”

“You don’t need to get anything on my account,” he said, but Gladio hear the hesitation before the words.

“Well, I haven’t eaten,” he said, and got up to grab the menu from the desk in the corner, “you’re welcome to have some of whatever I get.”

_Whatever he got_ was almost half the menu, Gladio ordering at random over the phone. Sandwiches and fruit and roasted vegetables, coffee and wine and juice. He didn’t know what Iggy would want and his own appetite was distracted with things that weren’t food. He slipped clothes back on for the sake of answering the door when the knock came, and used his bulk to block the runner from stepping or seeing inside where Iggy was still lounging naked on the bed. They had a little cart all to themselves, a bit disgustingly excessive, but Gladio wanted to make sure Iggy had something to eat.

Gladio watched him sit up, and poke through plates with curiosity, then take a tiny bite of a strawberry.

He went into the bathroom, to let Iggy eat and get a grip on himself. Splash water on his face and check the time, start that slow countdown until dawn when he’d have to let Iggy go again. All of the best. He shouldn’t have even been here from the get go, but he couldn’t even pretend to regret it.

There was a dent in the plate of sandwiches and Iggy was sipping on a cup of coffee when he came back out. Gladio took his time peeling his shirt off, and let Iggy go back to taking those dainty bites of food for appearances while Gladio sat behind him on the bed, pressing kisses to his back and shoulders. When Iggy gave him his mouth again, he tasted like fruit and cream and the bitter bite of coffee.

They fucked. They slept.

Gladio took him one last time from behind, pressed flush against his back and filling Iggy as deep as he could get. When he finished, floating on pleasure and want and need, he looked at saw the sky lightening. His time coming to a close.

Iggy took a shower before they left, per Gladio’s suggestion, plucking up his clothes and his purse to take in the bathroom with him, coming out a half hour later all dressed up like he’d been the night before and smelling like hotel soap. Gladio wondered if Iggy stole all the little bottles of toiletries, tucked them away in pockets for later use, part of him kind of hoping that he did.

He paid in cash. A solid stack of bills counted and folded while Iggy had been in the other room, with a generous addition to the amount agreed upon, like he could pay any unsavory feelings away. Iggy caught it. He saw it in the way his fingers ran over the stack, but Iggy shoved it all in his purse anyway without calling it out, leaving Gladio to think about all the things that never felt appropriate to ask; _are you eating enough? Are you staying warm? Do you have someplace safe to sleep?_

They pulled back up to the corner just as the sun was peaking up over the horizon. Iggy slipped out of the car without a parting remark, and Gladio watched him go until he disappeared around the corner.

  

 

 

* * *

 

  

 

There was a convenience store in a seedy neighborhood, on the corner of St. Charles, open 24/7. Gladio knew because he’d driven past it on nights full of too much empty space when he took to wandering the road. Warm nights were better, when he could roll down all the windows to let the wind crash in on him and exhaust his Mustang’s engine, listen to the way it purred while he sped down the deserted highways that mapped the city. When he could be nothing but a feeling, an impulse, existing not for the past or the future but for the moment. He did’t particularly worry about getting pulled over- cops wouldn’t ticket an Amicitia for something like speeding.

Nights like that sometimes took him a little too close to the South Side. Nights like that were how he got into trouble in the first place, when his headlights flashed over a figure in the dark, and green eyes in a pale face had stared him down through his windshield. But tonight Gladio was exercising his self control.

There were other places among all those hollow buildings and construction sites that gave a pretty view of the city at night. High and far away so that it almost felt quiet when Gladio went there alone. Most of those places were surrounded by chain link fences and plastered with NO TRESPASSING signs, but it was all irrelevant to Gladio. No one would call the cops on an Amicitia for something like trespassing.

He passed the convenience store on the way there, pulled off into a parking spot on impulse. He thought he might get some watery coffee to sip at and keep him warm, maybe a pack of smokes to go with it. He hadn’t smoked much, not since he was 16 and looking for some small and stupid rebellion against everything he couldn’t stand about his father and the world he lived it. But self destruction was awfully convenient for the people he was trying to fight against, the people that would have liked to see the outspoken son crash and burn. So smoking never lasted long, but sometimes he got the urge, when he was feeling just a little trapped, just a little self destructive once again. Small acts of rebellion and nothing more. Like buying a motorcycle and driving muscle cars at reckless speeds. Growing his hair out, covering himself in tattoos.

_It’s traditional_ , he’d said to his father. Because as much as he was trying to break out of a cage, solidify himself as something individual, he hadn’t wanted to intentionally upset his family.

And it was true, Gladio knew, because Clarus didn’t disagree with his point, just threw his hands up and told Gladio to do what he wanted, since it was clear he had his mind made up anyway. There were ancient writings, decorative tapestries even, hidden safe in the bowels of the Citadel that only people like Gladio could go and see, depicting Shields receiving their ceremonial tattoos, and all the pomp and circumstance that use to surround it. Massive sprawling designs, all birds of prey. Something had tugged at Gladio when he saw it. Something that felt right.

All just small acts of rebellion. Small acts and nothing more.

The bell on the door rung loud in the store, florescent lights casting a blue-green glow on everything until it looked sickly. Gladio gave a nod to the tired guy behind the counter, and made his way to the back of the store through cramped isles filled with rows of chips.

Some rounded the corner, nearly crashing into him.

Gladio’s sorry came out as a grunt, and at the same time he was looking down, the guy in front of him was looking up and…

Iggy looked up at him.

And immediately dropped his head back down, brushed past Gladio’s shoulder in a way he should have thought was rude and would have normally made some quip about, but instead he stood there staring.

Iggy, in an oversized sweater wearing thin and a pair of jeans that had seen too many washes. A pair of glasses on his face and hair tumbling over his forehead, clutching a bottle of juice and a package of ramen to his chest. He wasn’t blushing. He never looked embarrassed. He made for the cashier.

He paid with a wad of cash in small bills, all singles and fives, and when the cashier handed him his change and his plastic bag, he gripped them close again, walking quickly out the door with his head still down.

Gladio stared after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I was working on [Bed of Nails](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13209507/chapters/30216192) I knew I wanted to write something with their roles flipped again - Gladio associated with Royalty still and Ignis as a commoner.
> 
> this is.......... not at all what I had in mind. but who am I to deny any stupid idea that flits its way through my peabrain
> 
> (I am on tumblr @notthelasttime and twitter @nonethelasttime)


	2. Chapter 2

“Nervous?” 

He’d said it in the stifling silence of the car, hot air blowing from the vents and sweat prickling it’s way all over Gladio. Sweat on his palms on the steering wheeling, held in a chokehold grip. Sweat on his forehead and down his back.

That’s what Iggy said the first time. The start of it all.

Gladio got himself into trouble on late nights with racing thoughts and too much energy with nowhere to put it. It was one of those nights, in the last dredges of fall when Gladio watched the early setting sun and felt like he was losing time. He’d taken to picking a direction on the criss-cross of highways merging in the center of the city and just driving. Driving straight down that road, out of the city at breakneck speeds, going and going until he was in the middle of nowhere and then he’d sit and watch the sun rise. He should have gone and done that instead, reckless but safe in his solitude, not on the prowl looking for trouble, driving through the city and taking turns at random; _left, left, right, left_. Until he drove into an industrial park on the south side. 

Around another skeletal building and and another and-

A deer caught in his headlights, a body there on the corner, standing poised next to the street, fur coat blown open by the wind, not yet the full force of winter cold, and there was a coeurl print mini skirt over sheer black tights of holes and runs. The pale full moon of a face, and Gladio could have sworn eyes locked onto his through the darkness. He didn’t know those eyes were green. He couldn’t have, there was no way he could have seen, but in memories green eyes stared back at him, and saw right through him. 

That imagine of Iggy. The same image his mind pulled up every time he thought the name, standing on the street with his coat blown open and washed out from the glare of headlights.

He blinked and the body was gone, lost to the dark somewhere behind him on the street.

Gladio got less than half a block before he pulled over, not thinking about what he was doing. If he stopped to think he would lose that moment and everything would be ruined, so he sat in his car staring straight ahead, unfocused eyes watching the scattered silhouettes up and down the block. He hadn’t noticed the rest of them. Waiting, and waiting, and looking for something (or someone) to do. He should have left. He had no business being there. There was a knock on his window.

A body in a black fur coat.

Gladio rolled down the window.

“Looking for company?”

The man’s face was one part sultry, working he client, playing the role, and otherwise shrewd, eyes darting around the interior of the car while licking his lips; leather seats, expensive stereo, custom paneling over the dashboard.

“Maybe I am,” Gladio said and somewhere very far away inside his head a voice was yelling. A voice that sounded dangerously like his father, demanding, _what are you doing? Gladiolus, what do you think you are doing?_

He knew where he was. He knew what that question was fishing for.

_What am I doing?_

Gladio unlocked the car, and a smile flitted around the man’s mouth as he opened the door and slipped inside.

And they sat in silence. 

_Nervous?_

Gladio was almost afraid to look at him. His hands on the wheel clenched, unclenched, and he looked over at the long legs leaned in towards him. All that inviting body language, calculated and direct. There was a touch on his arm, muffled through his leather jacket but almost enough to make Gladio jump. 

“There’s an alley a few blocks down, on the right,” Gladio stared at his hand, traveled up his arm, to his neck, to his lips as he spoke, “it’s a little more private. If you prefer.”

Yes, Gladio preferred, and he put the car in drive, panicked at the situation he’d gotten himself into, but sucked too far into the quicksand to back out now. The alley _was_ more private, even if it was only the illusion of it, not bare and open on the street, but they were still just too strangers in a car, about to do something Gladio had never imagined he would. The parts of him not entirely focused on the man in the passenger’s seat were trying to find a way out.

“You haven’t done this before, have you?”

There was a long breath escaping Gladio’s lungs, a longer pause before he answered. “That obvious?”

He turned again to look at the man, and there was a wash of relief when Gladio saw amusement on his face, even if it was only surface projections, like the bedroom eyes and wanting looks from before, cut off at the stone wall behind his eyes. 

His green eyes. His pretty green ocean eyes, pale like seafoam and pupils wide in the night, and Gladio thought he had never wanted to kiss someone so bad in his life. In all those dead-end dates he’d been on, forcing some spark, pretending that it was there, he’d never wanted to kiss anyone like this, no one had lips as alluring as this, in the deep curved cupid’s bow, the slight part of them, like he was just waiting, just asking to be kissed.

“What’s your name?”

His head tilted just so slightly to the side.

“Iggy,” he said, “You can call me Iggy.” 

“I’m Gladio.”

“Right,” Iggy said, and one of his hands snaked up Gladio’s thigh and undid the zipper on Gladio’s pants so he could get to work.

  

* * *

 

Gladio was not avoiding him.

He was not.

It didn’t matter so much that now, in his mind, there were two images side by side; Iggy on the street corner. Iggy in the fluorescent light of the convenience store. 

Iggy didn’t spend all his time in heels and short skirts standing on the street. A given, an obvious thought. Gladio just hadn’t ever imagined what that other world of his looked like. He didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t get that image out of his head.

He went back.

It was coming up on two weeks, and mostly Gladio felt like he restrained himself. Being good, as he always said he would be every time he paid Iggy a visit, thinking _this is the last time. I can’t ever do this again. No one can ever know_. But it was an addiction, a need that thrummed inside of him, steady as a heartbeat and feeling just as essential to keep him breathing. He needed more. And more and more and more, and he could say he was never going back, but he was making plans, making preparations all the while. Before he found himself going back.

The proposition to go to a hotel flowed easier out of Gladio’s lips the second time, but he was no less anxious. He wondered if he ever wouldn’t be, if this would become his new normal or if he would always be on edge. Iggy’s acceptance, too, came quicker, without that same lingering pause, and he made a gesture through the window to one of the other girls before telling Gladio to go ahead. 

It was easier to rent the hotel room, to ask Iggy to wait in the car, easier to let Iggy follow him upstairs. The lights felt too bright, everything glaring in red and gold, but when Gladio opened the door, it was easier to watch Iggy slip off his red shoes and let the fur coat drop off his shoulders to the floor.

He was wearing the coeurl print skirt.

“Hey, I uh…” Iggy looked up at him wordless, hands stopped short of undressing himself. “I got you something.”

In the inside pocket of Gladio’s jacket, he’d been keeping a secret. One placed there the day after they ran into each other, and Gladio had known that he was lying to himself if he said he’d never go back to Iggy’s corner. 

He reached into the pocket and pulled out a small package, wrapped in black tissue and tied with an iridescent red bow. His thumb absently smoothed over the crinkled tissue, eyes pressed on the flattened bow before he extended it to Iggy. 

Iggy reached out… then drew his hand back slightly, a fox wandering in the forest, stopped short realizing his paw was hovering just short of a bear trap.

“A gift?” Iggy asked, looking up at Gladio through long eyelashes, with a face of stone. Not flattered. Not offended. 

“Just something small,” Gladio said, the lie of the century, and Iggy came forward the rest of the way, accepting the package and tearing into the wrapping, revealing a pair of black leather gloves. 

Real leather. And as close to a custom as Gladio could get without brining Iggy in, despite the many suggestions of the shopkeeper, and Gladio had finally gotten him to shut up by telling him, _it’s a gift, I want it to be a surprise._  A gift worth more than every piece of thrifted clothing Gladio had ever seen Iggy wear combined. Just something small. Something to keep the cold at bay when Gladio wasn’t around. 

Iggy didn’t say thank you. He watched Gladio from the side of his eye as he carefully inspected the gloves, then pulled them on, flexing his fingers and turning his hands back and forth, admiring the seamless fit. With those gloves on, he pulled down the zipper on the back of his skirt, and tugged the crop top over his head, and gloves still on, he dropped to his knees in front of Gladio and pulled his cock out to suck him off. 

Iggy still had the gloves on later, when Gladio had him on all fours and was fucking him from behind, watching his black hands clutching on to the white pillows on the bed. Gladio’s grip on his hips tightened, resisting the urge to thrust into him at full force, but the temptation was there. To fuck hard, to make Iggy his, see if Iggy would ever call out his name in pleasure, but Gladio was paranoid of unwanted domination, even when toeing the line of it.  

Did Iggy like it rough? Did he like it slow, did he want it on his side or standing up, or not at all?

Gladio flipped him over, fell against Iggy’s chest as he felt himself getting closer and closer. He was panting against Iggy’s neck, but stopped short of kissing him there, where at the junction of his shoulder there was the ghost of a hickey and faded bruises from the bite of teeth. 

Gladio moved his head to the other side. 

Iggy’s cock was hard between them and that was something for Gladio to focus on, something to make him think maybe this situation wasn’t as bad as he imagined sometimes, an indication of enjoyment, a reminder that he wanted to make Iggy come. He brought a hand between them, caressing Iggy’s erection, eliciting a moan, making him arch his back just a little bit and wrap those long legs around Gladio’s hips while he kept thrusting. 

“Does it feel good?” Gladio asked, voice broken and breathless, desperate for reassurances to his guilty conscience. 

Iggy’s fingers dug into his shoulders, gloves protecting his skin from the scratches that would have surely shown up otherwise. “ _Yes,_ ” he gasped, and it might have been a paid answer, but Gladio pushed himself in deep and came inside of him moments later anyway. His body’s disregard to anything but what was presented at face value, and ignoring parts of him that knew better. His lips found Iggy’s again while Gladio jerked him off, and with every shudder and twitch, Gladio’s tongue searched for the taste of pleasure in Iggy’s mouth.

He fell asleep again after that, only for a brief time, but that time was precious when it was counting down and the dollars were tallying up. Iggy lay next to him, close enough for their skin to touch, eyes daydreaming something imaginary on the ceiling. Gladio would believe the fact that Iggy hadn’t pulled away from him while he could meant that his touch didn’t equal revulsion. 

Gladio called room service again, a maybe, _slightly_ , less erratic selection of food off the menu left on the table, but only just barely. He didn’t ask this time around, and he thought he was hungry himself, even went so far as to poke around a burger and fries on the tray that was brought up. He thought about cheap chicken flavored ramen sold for less than a buck a piece, and whatever appetite Gladio had dissipated into a rolling distaste in his stomach. 

The gloves came off. 

Gladio kissed him again and again, laid him back down on the bed and Iggy let himself be moved and placed. Gladio left a trail with his mouth, down and down his neck and chest. Down to his toros where Gladio could see the outline of a ribcage, down to his belly and his hips, and he let his mouth ghost over Iggy’s cock. Hands twisted in the bedsheets.

“You don’t have to do that,” Iggy spoke quick and his head shot up, but his body didn’t move. 

Gladio pressed a kiss on the soft skin of the inside of his thigh, so close to the junction of his groin. And then pressed a kiss closer.

“But I want to,” Gladio said, and then gently took Iggy into his mouth.

It may have been a while since he sucked a guy off, but Iggy grew hard fast, a sign that he had to be doing something right. He took his time, tongue laving the full length of him, then coming back up to focus on the swollen tip. 

There were echoes, stern faced teachers preaching to a room full of squirming preteens about safe sex and abstinence and poor decision making. Lectures about STIs and knowing your partners’ history, things Gladio didn’t want to think about while he started bobbing his head faster. Then another, Gladio in high school and sitting in his father’s office, red faced and mortified as he was told that there would _not be any illegitimate Amicitia heirs running around Insomnia_. All he could do was sputter at his father, leaving as soon as he could without the words to say that given his preferences, his father didn’t need to worry about that being a problem.  

Iggy came in his mouth with a jolt, no noise above ragged breathing coming from his mouth, and Gladio swallowed it all down. The whole thing had gotten him hard again, but he would have been content to wait, or to handle it himself until, with a surprising amount of strength, Iggy was pulling him up, then pinning him down and crawling back on his lap to ride him. His cock stayed soft post-orgasm, and Gladio wanted to tell him it was alright to stop, if it didn’t feel good or if he was still too sensitive, but he was so keyed up and came so soon with Iggy grinding down on him, it didn’t matter much anyway.

Morning came. Iggy took a shower again before they left. He shoved Gladio’s money deep in his purse without counting, no argument or polite refusal about the extra tip Gladio had snuck in like last time, surely knowing it was there again.

Night left everything coated in frost, an icy world soon to shatter under the new sun. Iggy stepped out of the car with no goodbyes, breath coming out in dragon puffs around his face. He shut the door solidly behind him, leaving Gladio alone.

“Bye Iggy,” he said, and watched him walk away, dreaming of proper farewells. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

* * *

 

There was less of a knock, more of a series of _thuds_ on Gladio’s apartment door, late enough that there were only a small number of people it could feasibly be. He was therefore only marginally surprised to see the crown Prince on the other side.

“Hey,” Noct said, an overflowing bag of paper wrapped in plastic in one hand, and a six pack of lager in the other. That would explain him knocking with his foot. It also explained the scuffs on the white paint of Gladio’s door. “You gonna let me in, or what?”

Gladio sighed and stepped aside, allowing Noctis entrance. Truth was he didn’t mind the company, even without any sort of notice, and Noct didn’t care that he was already changed into sweatpants and an old muscle shirt for the night, which was the nice part about keeping old friends that were long past holding formalities and judgments. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gladio asked, swapping Noct’s case of beer for two cold bottles that he already had in the fridge. A sniff of the takeout bag told of meat skewers and fried rice from his favorite Galahdian place. “If you’re trying to butter me up for extra work this week I can tell you already the answer is no.”

“Do I _need_ a reason to stop in and see my oldest friend? You’re going to hurt my feelings, big guy,” Noct said with mock offence, already making his way over to Gladio’s couch, and Gladio followed after him. “Sorry for being bored and hungry and thinking you might enjoy my company.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Gladio said and gave Noct’s head a shove, “I know you just wanted to get out of the Citadel.”

Air huffed out of Noct’s mouth when he plopped back on the soft cushions of the brown leather couch, “Fine, you caught me.”

Gladio had been quick to ditch the family home as soon as he’d sprung on to adulthood, things like money never holding him back, and a desperate need to have space and time to himself when he’d been drenched in tradition since birth. He was in a downtown apartment, with the downtown rent to match, but it wasn’t so bad. Gladio didn’t think his place was anything ostentatious, and it was as private as he could get, still staying within spitting distance of the Citadel and Amicitia Manor, tied down to family with duty and honor and obligation. He could live with it most days when he had his own space. Noctis didn’t have the same luxuries.  

He still thought this visit was about Noctis and not himself. 

Noct pulled up a streaming service on the TV while Gladio grabbed silverware for the food. There was familiarity to the actions, and the familiar brought comfort, paces and positions memorized without effort, broken-in shoes that slid comfortably back on. They’d been at odds as children, back when Gladio had to watch out for him and keep him out of trouble, placed into a position of unwanted maturity. but time had shaped them smooth against each other, and adulthood brought a hell of a lot of perspective along with it. 

They watched some slick action flick, the kind of thing that would have normally kept Gladio entertained with enough good fight choreography and bright colors and lights, but he found himself zoning out for the majority of it while the two of them steadily worked their way through a massive pile of food, and started in on Noct’s six pack, then killed it off all together. By the time the credits were rolling, Gladio was hazy and beer-buzzed. Not enough to be well and truly drunk, but the world was soft around the edges and a little bit too warm. He’d be giving up a decent night’s sleep in exchange for running to the bathroom for a piss every other hour, but that was alright. He felt more mellow and content than he had in months, even if he still couldn’t close his eyes without seeing coeurl print skirts and fishnets.

Noct’s head flopped to the side against the couch and he gave a long stare at Gladio before he spoke.

“Hey. You been alright?”

Gladio took longer to answer, his guard down and caught by surprise more than he would admit. Noctis, the little shit, always more perceptive than he let on. Even if he could barely talk about his own moods without clamming up, and he’d probably be telling Gladio, _I’m fine, I’m fine, whatever_ , until the day that he died.

“Yeah, I’ve been alright,” Gladio said on reflex and thoughts buzzed around his head like flies, soaked in just enough beer to make them tempting to catch and spit out. 

Noctis shrugged. “Okay,” he said, “you just kinda seem down lately, that’s all.”

“It’s nothing,” Gladio said, not unkindly, and he knew if he told Noctis to drop it, then he would.

“You been seeing anyone?”

Gladio went silent.

“ _Oh_ , I knew it,” Noct said and there was a smile breaking out on his face, sudden boneless posture gone giddy. 

“It’s not like that,” Gladio said, dismissive, but Noct had already latched on and knew he was brushing close to the truth. “It’s complicated.”

“ _It’s complicated_ ,” Noct imitated, eye-roll noticeable in his voice, if not on his face, “Come on, that’s just what people say when they don’t want to admit they’ve got something going on.” 

That made Gladio scowl, but Noct just laughed. The conversation lulled, and when Noctis spoke again, he sounded sincere. 

“You can always bring him around, you know.” Gladio couldn’t do much else but sigh. “Really. Dad always throws that holiday party, and _you_ never make good on bringing your plus one. You could always bring Mr. Complicated. As a friend, if you want.”

Gladio cringed, “I-I don’t know. He’s kind of…” _a prostitute_.

“Shy.”

“Well… just think about it, okay? He’d not going to get any less shy if you don’t bring him around.”

“Says the guy that can’t mention Lady Lunafreya without blushing.” 

That shut Noct up, but he helped Gladio clean up the mess in the living room and left with a slap on Gladio’s back, yawning while he called a car to fetch him. no hard feelings between surrogate brothers and Gladio knew Noctis meant well.

So he thought about it. And thought about it some more. 

 

* * *

 

The next time it was a black box, sitting in the back seat of Gladio’s car, and Iggy pretended not to notice Gladio carrying it up to the hotel room with them, and Gladio pretended not to notice the black leather gloves keeping Iggy’s hands warm. 

He had thought that maybe at this point there’d be more than frequent silences between them, and maybe he’d just watched too many bad romance flicks, read too many novels about true love. They didn’t make small talk, there can’t have been anything they had in common, sprouting up from two entirely different worlds, worlds that never should have collided like this. Gladio was paying him for sex.

They walked together through the parking garage, up the elevators, up and up to their room where Gladio unlocked the door and let Iggy in. He felt like things should be different this time around; third time’s the charm. 

But Iggy was there with him because Gladio was paying him for sex. Had been for the last few months and didn’t that just shit all over anything that could have been.

“Here,” Gladio said, holding out the box just as Iggy slipped off the red heels again, their meetings starting to form into ritual, and Gladio had memorized and ingrained every moment into his mind, every move that Iggy would make.

Iggy hesitated again at the prospect of a gift and what strings might be attached, and Gladio wanted to tell him, _just trust me, it’s okay, it’s okay please you can just trust me_.

Iggy couldn’t trust anyone. But he took the box. 

He had to claw at the bow wrapped around it, keeping the lid shut, and when the ribbon fell off he tipped the lid back and parted the tissue paper obscuring the prize inside.

Red heels. Real leather and shined spotless and gleaming, plush cushioning on the inside, handmade in Altissia. Some designer Gladio knew next to nothing about, other than they were all the rage from Insomnia to Tenebrae and had cost an obscene amount. He’d snuck a look at Iggy’s old stilettos while he was in the shower last time, checking for a size and finding the insides worn away to the point of falling apart, the sole on the left shoe starting to fall off. 

Iggy was staring at them. Gladio cleared his throat.

“They should be the right size,” he said, suddenly wildly uncomfortable, used to gifts that were given and received with excitement and thank yous and hugs. Not awkward silence. “Try them on? I can get another pair if they don’t fit right.” 

Iggy put the box down on the dresser next to him, that he used to keep himself steady with one hand while he slipped the shoes onto his feet, one by one, with the other. Slowly he stretched a leg out, twisting it, rotating his feet, looking at the new shoes that decorated them and shifting and testing his weight. 

“Do you like them?”

Iggy didn’t answer, but he came over to Gladio and looped his arms around his shoulders, sultry look back on his face. “Do you want me to keep them on tonight?”

“You don’t-” Iggy pushed him back just slightly until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he pushed Gladio down to sit, climbing on to his lap, “You don’t have to.”

Iggy leaned in to kiss him. He knew now, then, what Gladio wanted, how he couldn’t stop claiming Iggy’s mouth. He was learning Gladio’s thoughts. And even though it filled him with desire that burned hot and left him with desperate longing, Gladio broke himself out of the kiss.

“Actually, I had something I wanted to ask you first.”

Under his fingertips Iggy’s body went still and he pulled back. There was no expression on his face.

“Yes?”

They were alone in a hotel room and given his profession there were probably a limited number of things that Iggy would assume that question was, and Gladio was more embarrassed than he should have been, looking back at the bad decisions that led to worse impressions. “There’s a party. I was wondering if you would go with me.”

Iggy’s face went sharp and his jaw clenched, body more rigid than Gladio had ever felt him. “What sort of party?” He asked, the words sharp like knives. Whatever Iggy was picturing, Gladio pictured it too. A party where he was working, a party with more than Gladio peeling off his clothes.

“It’s not- it’s not anything… it’s just a party. A… family party. Kind of. You’d be there with me as a guest. Like anybody else.”

It felt like the wrong thing to say, Iggy still tense enough to snap, and he slowly took himself out of Gladio’s grasp and off his lap. 

“A guest,” he repeated. Tension building up under the surface of his face.

“Just a guest. _My_ guest, really, but it’s uh… kind of a big event,  yearly thing, but it gets pretty boring going alone. I can… I can pay you,” he said and cringed and hated himself for it. This wasn’t supposed to be a bribe, and he saw Iggy’s face pinch when he said it. And then, because Gladio was honest, and stupid and thought that Iggy saying yes and showing up to the city’s largest holiday event without any sort of warning might be jarring and he wanted to save any anxieties that might come later, he said, “It’s at the Citadel.”

“Who are you?”

“What?”

Iggy’s face went red and for the first time Gladio saw the mask slip in full. “Who are you, really? You’re young, you’re attractive and you clearly have money and connections. You haven’t asked me to indulge in any fetishes. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to find someone to sleep with you without having to pay them, _or_ if you’re not interested in getting tangled in a relationship, or sleeping around behind a partner’s back you clearly have the means to go to someone else. An escort. A professional. Someone… _discreet_.” his face twisted, and his eyes locked on Gladio, “You come to me because you think it’s dirty.”

And the meaning lurking in the undercurrent, _you think I’m dirty_.

He kept talking before Gladio could try and deny it, “So who are you then, really? And what do you want from me.”

Iggy was breathing heavy and Gladio’s heart was pounding thick in his chest. How could he explain? How could he talk about hollow nights and longing and cages of fate, and the fact that this whole thing had been an accident and now he couldn’t ever get Iggy out of his head? That this wasn’t exploitation. This was Gladio fumbling an attempt at asking him out on a date.

The truth then. Because in fairy tales and romance novels the truth always wins.

“My name _is_ Gladio,” he said, “it’s… Gladiolus Amicitia.”

Iggy’s face went from furious red to paper white. “Gods. It’s even worse than I thought.”

He grabbed his coat.

“Wait-” Gladio got up and tried to grab his arm but Ignis slipped right out from under him, snatching up his purse, and Gladio saw that split second of racing thoughts when Iggy saw his old shoes sitting on the ground, new pair still on his feet. Waste time and change them? Accept the bribe? Choose something nice and new over something old and falling apart? It all came back around to money. Every time.

He went for the door.

“ _Wait_ ,” Gladio said again, “wait, at least let me drive you.”

“I’ll walk,” Iggy snarled back, and then slammed the door and was gone. 

 


	3. Intermission: Ignis

_I like him_

Ignis thought, walking away from the black mustang, the deep rumble of the engine still vibrating in his chest. At least, Ignis liked him as much as he liked anyone that was paying him, where _like_ had a different set of standards and the intolerable became tolerable all dependent on the price. But the politeness had been nice. He’d been awkward and keyed up, tense as a rubber band stretched wide and ready to snap, and Ignis knew, looking at him and the intensity of his uncertainty, that there was a very good chance Ignis would wind up shoved out of that fancy car in a panic and out onto the street. Mouth still tasting like semen and none the richer for his efforts, but a few scrapes and bruises wiser. That was the calculated risk he took with every John he walked up to. Every job was set on a sliding scale, risk against reward, and Ignis liked to think he was smart enough to know where to draw the line and what wasn’t worth it. It’d been a long time since he had to pluck himself from a sticky situation, but complacency meant mistakes Ignis could not afford. So he got into the car and did his job, and in the end, Ignis thought, _I like him_. The wide-eyed looks and gentle touches were enough for Ignis to remember him by, if not the twitchy nervousness. A feat usually only reserved for those detestable enough for him to mark their names and faces with a red X in his mind, thinking _never again, not if I can help it_.

Gladio, he said his name was. Which was more originality than the endless Toms, and Brians, and, worst of all, the Johns. And Ignis smiled just a little as he stepped back up onto the sidewalk, wondering where in the hell he’d decided on giving a name like that. 

All his _clients_ should be so creative.

“What are you so happy about?” Aranea was there waiting for him, arms crossed and moody, as she tended to get in the cold. Her eyes dipped back to the mustang that screamed _money_ , finally pulling away after sitting and waiting for too long, and Ignis thought about the slight tremble to Gladio’s hands as he fumbled with his wallet and paid Ignis what he was owed. “ _Please_ tell me you overcharged him.”

Ignis smirked. “Of _course_ I overcharged him.”

 

 

 

_I like him_

Ignis thought, walking away from the mustang for the second time in a week. He thought his newfound regular was gone, had enough, scratched his particular itch of curiosity, and had finally reached boredom now that the novelty had worn off. It had been some time since his last visit. Ignis couldn’t claimed to have missed him. A John was a John was a John and mistakes came in thinking they were anything else or any different than the rest. So he missed Gladio’s money, then. And the fact that he didn’t insist on fucking Iggy’s mouth so hard his throat was sore for the rest of the night.

“Was that… _the guy?_ ”

Prompto’s stares were wide-eyed and curious, but Aranea wasn’t so kind.

“The stalker, you mean,” she said and pulled out another cigarette. Ignis was quick to respond with offense he only half felt. 

“He’s done nothing to warrant that title as of yet.”

“ _As of yet_ ,” she sneered back, getting pouty when Ignis only laughed at her. He learned long ago that her bite held no poison, and if her bark was loud, it was only hiding a soft spot, hidden behind all that leather. 

“I don’t like him,” she said, barreling on through Ignis’s dismissal, and Prompto watched, legs jittering in the cold, eyes bouncing back and forth between them.

“He’s fucking trouble, Ignis. The worst ones always start off nice.”

He didn’t admit out loud she was right. 

 

 

 

_I like him_

Ignis thought, head still stuck on the night before while he sat in a both in a diner, sun just peeking up in the sky. He had his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of black coffee to keep them warm, even if he’d been out of the cold for last night.

“I thought hotels were off limits,” Aranea said, adding sugar to her coffee and looking over the menu neither of them would order from. Cheap food still cost money, and they’d loitered here on more than one occasion, warming hands and feet, escaping the rain, and keeping eyes on the wait staff, seeing how far they could push their luck until they had to leave or risk being kicked out. For now they could claim they were waiting on Prompto.

“I never said that,” Ignis replied, after a long sip, eyes preoccupied with watching the coffee slosh around in his mug.

“Maybe not out loud. But it’s your unspoken rule.”

“I’ve been to hotels before…” His response was weak, if true. He’d been to hotels. He’d been to cheap hotels with bed bugs and stained carpets, he’d been flat on his back and staring up at more than one ugly popcorn ceiling marked with water stains. And the conclusion that he came to was that men were a lot more bold and a lot more dangerous when they weren’t in the back of a car and surrounded by windows. A little bit of isolation behind a locked door and some started veering on the edge of a power trip. Some started thinking their money talked a lot more than it did. 

So no, Ignis didn’t like hotels, and he still kept a switchblade sewn into the inside of his fur coat.

“How much did you charge him?” She asked, after a sigh, resigning herself to the fact that this wasn’t an argument worth having.

“Triple,” he said, and there was a moment when Aranea stopped, staring him down, waiting to see if he was joking, and a grin spreading across her face when she realized it was true. A grin Ignis shot right back. 

But short lived.

Her face fell, “You know… Ardyn’s going to want his chunk of that.” The coffee in his mouth went sour.

“He doesn’t have to know how much.”

“Right,” she said, “of course not.”

And neither of them said what they both were thinking. That Ignis would pay what he had to, that there would be no lying and hiding funds because Ardyn would know. 

Somehow, Ardyn always knew. 

 

 

 

 _I like him_ , he said to Aranea, facing each other and sharing a blanket, both still shivering with the heat turned low. One of the girls got herself a boy, and sometimes she let them come around during the day and sleep on a mattress on the floor of the living room. It was better than going to the shelter. It was better than trying to find someplace to sleep on the street.

“You’re smarter than that,” she said giving him a look that should have been exasperation, except her eyes were too tired to pull it off. She hadn’t bothered to take her off her makeup, just rubbed at it and smeared it everywhere instead and Ignis thought she was so beautiful and that life wasn’t fair. He’d give her a kiss on the forehead and tell her as much, but she’d smack his hands away and tell him to stop being an ass if he did. “You like his money. It’s the only thing he’s good for.”

“I _do_ like his money,” he said, “... and his cock’s not half bad.”

She laughed and that made him laugh, inelegant snorting and knocking foreheads, even worse that it was truth. That Gladio had actually bothered to shower and keep himself clean before driving by, unlike so many others. Sex was sex, and just another thing for people to do to one another. Another way to get by, and for Ignis, sometimes it was boring, sometimes it was uncomfortable, and sometimes he was better off pretending he was somewhere else, but sex with Gladio was… alright. It was alright. 

 

 

 

_I like him_

Ignis thought, leather gloves slid on smooth over his hands. A gift.

Gifts were dangerous like hotels were dangerous. Nothing was ever given for free, but Ignis didn’t know what the price was and Gladio wasn’t telling him.

Sometimes they’d say things to him.

 _Oh Iggy, oh you’re so perfect, oh you’re so beautiful, oh i’ll marry you. I’ll leave my wife for you. I’ll get you off the street_. And they came and they paid and they left, back to normal life and Ignis went back to work. Maybe some of them thought they meant it in the moment. Some of they maybe even thought he really was pretty. Iggy served a purpose, for his Johns and for Ignis alike, but it was pointless pretending that he had any use beyond that. 

It was curious. To get a gift along with none of the promises. It was a game he was playing, one he could not afford to lose, but it was starting to feel like he was walking a tightrope, and one wrong move from falling into the abyss below. One bad night from seeing the other side of this facade. One more moment and the other shoe would drop.

Tonight was not that night, and Ignis left with a new pair of gloves.

 

  
  
  


_I liked him_

Ignis thought, shiny new shoes on his feet. He stared down at them, stomping down the hallway, vision redder than the leather and upset that the drama of his escape was muffled on thick carpeted floors. 

 _I liked him_ , Ignis thought, heart beating fast from adrenaline, pulse only abating as he took the elevator back down and had to brave marching through the lobby. With any luck they’d see he was on his way out and leave him alone. It was only then, soft music playing and the anger cracking to reveal something else underneath, that Ignis was shocked to see the edges of his vision blurring. It was stupid to want nice things. It was stupid to think that any John was any different from the rest when the signs had all been there. He wasn’t a prostitute to be put on parade. He wasn’t so desperate that he’d cater to disaster tourism of his life.

 _I liked him_ , Ignis thought. And that was why it hurt.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re moping.”

The comment came from Noct, who was currently lounging over the sleek black leather couch along the wall of Gladio’s office. Designer, like the rest of the garbage taking up space in the room. He had a fishing magazine draped over his face to protect from the glaring sun, mirroring in through the wide window, and Gladio had made the mistake of thinking he’d fallen asleep. 

“I’m not moping, I’m working. You might try it sometime.”

Noctis just laughed at him, sat up and let the magazine fall, blinking rapidly in the sudden light. Gladio was perhaps more _over_ working, than working, and the excuse ready at his lips should anyone ask, was that it was because the pressure was on from his father. He would not be on duty the night of the Caelum party, but he’d been put in charge of planning security. An insane notion, given the fact that Cor Leonis, their chief of security, had more experience and practical knowledge under his belt than Gladio could even come close to. If Cor saw Gladio’s selection to a superior position as an affront, he was at least polite about it. Cold, unnerving, and utterly intimidating, but always polite. Polite enough not to tell Gladio when he was fucking up.

So, Gladio thought, he would prove himself worthy then, and show that he didn’t plan on coasting and that he was willing to put in the work. How convenient then, that long office hours for double and triple checking measures that had already been approved and solidified, ate up his free time and stray thoughts. Convenient that sitting behind a desk for extra hours in the morning and longer hours at night meant he had less time to lay awake when he went home, staring at the ceiling and wondering about-

“Did you guys break up or something?”

Gladio scowled, which only added fuel to Noct’s fire.

“No shit,” he said, sitting up in full, finally at full attention. “Wait, this isn’t… it’s not because you asked him to the party, right?”

“We didn’t break up,” Gladio said, moving another pile of files, letting them slap down on the desk. They’d have to have been dating to have this be a breakup. 

“Well then what-”

“Noct, can you please _drop it_.” The words came out harsh, and louder than he wanted, so Gladio dropped his head into his palms and rubbed his eyes. So much for ignoring things to make them go away. So much for pretending he didn’t care. He should have known; more pressure, the bigger the explosion, and he was only scratching the surface.

“Sorry,” Noct said, quiet but sounding like he meant it. Not quite right, when Gladio thought he should be the one asking for forgiveness, but before he could comment, Noctis barreled on ahead. A master at unresolved tension swept under the rug, a lifetime of unspoken arguments between himself and his father. “Man, it’s _freezing_ in here. I thought your office was supposed to be warm with all that sun.”

Gladio sighed, and bit back all of his unspoken remarks, “Yeah, well, it’s a bitch out there today.”

Noct shoved his hands in his pockets as he stood up and strolled over to the window, overlooking the city. So deceptive under the bright and clear sky. “Gonna be a bitch out there all week, today’s just the start. Whole city’s freaking out about it… Telling people not to go outside if they don’t have to. Dad thinks he might shut down the Citadel so people don’t have to commute.”

“Huh…” Gladio said, running a hand over the trimmed hair of his jaw, mind turning in spirals. Rare that Noct should know more about what was going on than him, more evidence of his distracted mind, but everything kept looping back around to one central point, one person he couldn’t escape. 

Iggy was out there. Under a cold moon and on an unforgiving street. Wearing next to nothing in his threadbare dresses and fake fur coat.

Noctis kept talking. Gladio rubbed his face and leaned back in his chair.

 

* * *

 

Gladio decided not to think about it.

The best course of action when you weren’t wanted was to drop it. Let it go, move on, wipe the egg from your face and learn that, no matter the best intentions, someone would always misunderstand. What a simple and clean way to categorize the situation. What an easy way to pretend his fumbled wording, his past mistakes, hadn’t been responsible for landing himself in this situation.

He didn’t think about it.

And, (not thinking about it), he went home to his empty apartment the night after Noctis planted the seed in his head with unintentional rambling about the weather and (not thinking about it), went to bed that night without checking the forecast. He (not thinking about it), ignored the way his Mustang barely started the next morning, stuttering to its usual purr, only after much coaxing; _come on baby, don’t do this to me, I don’t want to have to call for a car_. On his drive in (not thinking about it), he ignored the wind picking up in gusts, enough to make him fight the steering wheel when they came on hardest and (not thinking about it), he didn’t acknowledge the cold clawing at him and the clouds rolling in, leaving his skin tingling through his thick wool coat from the quick walk through the parking garage to the elevator. 

It was cold in his office again, even worse now with the wind. It was only going to get worse.

He was thinking about it.

_No, he wasn’t._

The day dragged on like they all had been lately. Meeting, work, staring off into space, coffee breaks in the cafe downstairs. He made it through, he drove home while the first flakes of snow started to fall, he changed into layers, warm clothes, sweatpants and a hoodie, ordered delivery. He wanted a beer.

Drinking was dangerous right now. He poured a glass of water from the tap instead.

Gladio made it until past midnight. Vacant stare at the TV, and working through thoughts one right after the other. Scanning them. Searching for traces of hints of street corners and long legs and all other parallel lines struck through as off limits.

It wasn’t his own mind to betray him in the end, when the drone of the news flashing through his dark apartment turned into a weather update. Freezing temperatures, weather warnings. Snow. A newscaster in a puffy dark coat, interviewing people on the street, talking about public health concerns, and overcrowding homeless shelters. Frostbite and missing fingers. The chance of people dying on the street.

There was a pit in his stomach and a big empty spot in his mind when Gladio suddenly jumped up from the couch, threw on a coat and snatched his keys from the counter before running outside. 

The streets were deserted on his way there, a tempting prospect of opening the Mustang’s engine up and letting that baby fly down to the docks. Only the mental image of the tires slipping on slick and frosty streets kept him holding back for fear of winding up in a ditch. Half appealing, the idea of no longer being needed (or of being a burden) if he was no longer around but… Well, not all fleeting ideas were always worth acting on.

The snow had begun in earnest while Gladio had been set on autopilot and his tires left a dark trail behind him, breadcrumbs for those who would follow it into the late night streets of Insomnia. There was, presumably, no one around. On the blocks leading up to his destination, none of the sparse scattering of girls he usually saw, none of the other wayward Insomnians, going about their dirty business with heads down. Maybe, he thought, this was pointless. Maybe, he thought, this was the last of his useless knight in shining armor acts, his misguided attempts at playing the hero yet again, for those who were not looking nor needed to be saved. 

He turned the corner and Iggy was there.

Of course Iggy was still out there. 

The sound of his engine, if not the flash of headlights got Iggy’s attention, the perking of ears at the idea of respite from the cold, a little cash to make the night end easier. Gladio might as well have seen the snarl when his car was recognized, and Iggy turned his back and started stomping down the sidewalk. 

Gladio didn’t know what he’d been expecting. 

He pulled up alongside to where Iggy was stalking along, idling to keep up with his slow but determined progress down the street, quick steps kept short for fear of falling on the ice and snow, hindering his escape. Gladio rolled the passenger’s side window down.

“Get in, I’ll take you someplace warm for tonight.”

Iggy charged on, pointedly ignoring him, and whatever help he’d come to offer.

“Iggy, get in.”

“ _No._ ”

A reaction, no matter what it was had to triumph over nothing, but Iggy poured enough vitriol into one word for Gladio to feel it, down his throat straight into the pit of his stomach. Iggy kept walking.

“I’m not here as a customer, I just want to get you inside.” That profile, haughty and proud against a backdrop of streetlights blurred with snow. Refusing to look in Gladio’s direction.

“Iggy, you’re going to freeze out here-”

“ _No!_ ”

“Gods _damn_ it, you’re going to die just to prove a fucking point! _Please_ get in.”

Over his yelling, after a silent curse at the sky, Iggy walked over to the car, fury written in every step, in the way he flung open the car door, and brimming on his face when he got in.

But he was safe.

 

* * *

 

The silence between them was excruciating. 

Iggy sat in the passenger’s seat, arms crossed tightly across his chest and head turned deliberately away from Gladio to look out the window. Exposed skin turned from pale white to blotchy red and pink in the heat.

Gladio saw the gloves on his hands, the shoes on his feet, opening a feeling inside him that he was quick to suffocate again. This wasn’t like those dates of his, carefully coordinating the jewelry he’d given girls to wear while they were together, flirty little meaningless gestures. Jewelry he’d barely paid attention to, pointing at things on display at random, or requesting the shopkeep to give him something popular and expensive. Gifts because they were expected, worn in his presence because that was expected too. A game of fawning and compliments and pretending he actually cared whether he bought the ugly earrings someone was wearing or not. Iggy didn’t have a choice- not when the choice boiled down to bare hands and frostbitten fingers or to wear the tainted gift.

“How are the shoes?” Gladio asked, banging his head against a wall, looking for something to say.

“They’re giving me blisters,” Iggy said back in a voice made knives so Gladio didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. 

He pulled up in front of the hotel. A toss up between the residual memories left in some place familiar, or the risk of carting Iggy away somewhere new, another reason for suspicion, for barbed wire to wrap around those walls already in place. 

Gladio killed the engine. “Can you sta-”

“ _Stay in the car_ ,” he spat, “I know.” 

Gladio got a room with two beds.

If Iggy could have thrown spikes like a porcupine he would have. Gladio could feel it all the way upstairs, but had no words to try and calm him, the task both too daunting and immense. He couldn’t take back who he was and that was only part of the equation, and he wished he could want to take back the nights he’d spent with Iggy but he couldn’t, Gods he couldn’t. 

He went and sat on the edge of the far bed when they got into the room, letting out a weary sigh as he did.

Iggy was not interested in playing out his usual beats- the surveillance of the room, the coy prowl up to Gladio. Instead he slammed his purse down on the customary hotel dresser and angrily kicked off his heels. The fur coat next, torn off of him and thrown on the ground, that left him a red dress. Bright red, the gash of an open wound. Tacky; synthetic fabric with too much shine, suctioned onto Iggy’s body because it was probably a size too small. He stretched for the zipper running up the back.

“What are you doing?”

Iggy only sent a vile glare in his direction before continuing to claw at the zipper, fingers finally catching their prize and he drew it all the way down.

“Iggy, stop.” And down came the dress from his shoulders.

Gladio stood up and walked over, grabbing Iggy by his arms when he kept furiously undressing. Gladio wanted to shake him, maybe make at least one of them see sense. 

“ _Stop_.”

Iggy pushed him away with a surprising amount of force, leaving Gladio empty handed and staring, wondering. How he could have missed strength like that, how he never could have noticed. Iggy was a cavern filled with secrets he didn’t know. Half dressed and staring back at him, somewhere in between revulsion and curiosity, chest rising and falling too fast.

“That’s not why I brought you.”

“Then what _am_ I doing here.” That much intensity was hard to sustain, and Gladio could see it slipping out of Iggy, hear the tone of defeat when he spoke. The desperate need to know.

“I just…” Gladio swallowed, his mouth unbearably dry, “I just wanted you out of the cold tonight.” He gestured at the two beads. “I’d have gotten you the room and left but… I didn’t think you’d actually stay.”

He’d pictured Iggy storming out the moment Gladio was gone. Goodbye room, goodbye unwanted charity. Back to the streets.

Instead, the Iggy with him now crossed his arms tight over his chest. At least he’d stopped manically undressing. He didn’t have to be happy. He just had to be alive, unharmed. 

Gladio went back to his side of the room. Working in slow movements, he took off his own boots, draped his jacket over the back of a chair. Iggy watched him. He cut the overhead light, leaving them in the dimness of the bedside lamps, and Gladio crawled heavily into his bed, watching Iggy and pretending he wasn’t, keeping tabs from the corner of his eye. 

Iggy stood undecided for a stretch of time, Gladio declining to notice, just as Iggy didn’t comment on his show of tucking in and going to bed. Sleep was on neither of their minds. Iggy’s hands went back to the dress, slow this time with the task of undressing. Gladio stared at the ceiling. The stockings came off too, and while seeing Ignis undressed wasn’t anything new, and clearly nothing he wasn’t used to, it felt like he should have been covered. The difference between naked and _exposed_. Gladio thought about offering his hoodie, but then Iggy was crawling under the blankets of the other bed. The moment passed, the thought deemed a stupid, unwanted gesture, and so Gladio made no offers at all.

He did watch the back of Iggy’s head- turned away from him, a body cocooned in blankets and curled up on itself. He watched Iggy’s breathing, and knew it was a very long time before he fell asleep. He knew because that breathing never changed, through an impossible stretch of time that barely felt like existence. And then Gladio fell asleep first. 

Morning came with disorientation, clouded eyes and a shot of panic as Gladio was suddenly wide awake. Barely dawn, and he’d been forced from sleep by his own subconscious, the very real fear that Iggy had left while he slept. 

He looked to the other bed. 

Iggy, hair in his face, eyes groggy, still wrapped up in hotel blankets up to his chin, rolled over and looked at him. He looked with suspicion, walls up and all boundaries on lockdown, but the anger had all but fizzled out. Something else filled its place.

One of them had to speak sooner or later.

“This… party of yours,” the air was sterile and quiet between them, Iggy cut through it with his voice. “When is it?”

“Next weekend,” Gladio said then cleared his throat, rough with sleep and stress and cold. “You don’t have to say yes. I’m giving you the choice.”

“You’re paying?”

He’d made the offer already, dug his grave, now all there was to do was lay back down in it. Gladio nodded- once, and sharp.

“Then no,” Iggy said, amused in a sardonic way with the start of a twisted smile on the edges of his mouth, “I don’t have a choice.”

 

 


End file.
